Under the Surface
by OrangeShipper
Summary: Summary: Challenge!Fic - "Molesley has a giggle-fit at an inopportune moment."  Strong M/M slant, also featuring Isobel, Anna, Cora and furniture. Unapologetically ridiculous.


A/N: _Challenge fic based on the prompt: Mr Molesley has a giggle-fit at an inopportune moment._

_To give this fic some context, it is set within Silvestria's and my 'Fluffiverse', a future AU in which Matthew/Mary marry soon after the end of DA series 1. At this point, early 1915, Isobel lives at Crawley House with them still.  
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_I shall say no more! Other than to thank Silverduck hugely for beta-ing, and Silvestria/AriadneO for helping me work through the idea._

_Hope you enjoy :)_

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><p><strong>Under the Surface<br>**

"Come on, darling – how often do we get the house to ourselves?" Matthew implored his wife.

"But Matthew, I'm not at all sure we have the time... You know I should like to, but your mother is likely to arrive home at any moment!" Mary wavered.

"Well we'll just have to be quick, won't we? I can't imagine we'd take too long..." He had more faith in their capabilities than Mary, it seemed.

"Oh, you are that sure of your skill, are you?" Mary's eyebrows raised in gentle mockery, lips curving into a smile as she laid her hands on his arms fondly.

"I don't think it's my place to be the judge of that, darling, do you?"

"Perhaps," she said quietly. Matthew sensed she was beginning to give in and pressed a little more.

"We should really make the most of the opportunity while Mother is out. You know it's the best way, darling."

"Yes... Yes, I suppose you're right. As you often are!" Mary placed an affectionate kiss on his cheek. "I'll go on up, then – you'd better warn Molesley."

Matthew nodded, smiling at her acceptance. As Mary exited he pulled the bell, and paced a little while. Before long Molesley entered, clasping his hands together meekly.

"Good afternoon, Mr Crawley. What can I do for you?"

"Ah, Molesley. Lady Mary and I are going to be upstairs for a little while – could you see that we are not disturbed, please?"

"Of course, Sir." Molesley nodded, betraying no expression at his master's request.

"Particularly if my mother should come back before we are quite finished – is there any chance you could deflect her? If she should... well, it would be very awkward. I'm sure you understand that."

"I do, Mr Crawley. I'll do my best, naturally."

Matthew smiled appreciatively at his butler and valet. He'd grown to rely greatly upon the man over these last few years, and couldn't quite imagine doing without him now. They had developed a good relationship, and it pleased Matthew to feel that he had earned Molesley's loyalty in times such as this.

"Thank you, Molesley. We'll be down soon." And with that, he followed his wife upstairs.

Molesley smiled gently to himself as he returned to the kitchen of Crawley House. He set himself the task of polishing the silver cutlery; it had been a beautiful wedding gift for his master and Lady Mary some months ago now, and he was determined to keep it pristine. He looked up as Anna came in; she smiled at him and sat down at the table with a needle and thread, one of the mistress' hats in front of her. Molesley smiled back. He could not deny that the addition of Anna to the household, along with Lady Mary, had been a welcome one. They got on well, he thought – yes, they got on quite well. She was very refreshing company after having only Mrs Bird and the young girl Beth for conversation for two years.

"Upstairs again, are they?" She grinned, her blue eyes sparkling mischievously. "They seem to be nowhere else, hardly!"

"Not these last few weeks, no," Molesley agreed. He met hers eyes briefly, then quickly concentrated his attention back on the silver spoon in his hands. "I'm under orders from Mr Crawley to deflect Mrs Crawley if she asks where they are."

"Are you!" Anna laughed; a light, cheery laugh. "I don't expect she appreciates bein' deflected much!"

"No, no I don't think she does!" It warmed his heart a little, to be sharing a laugh, a moment with her. It made him feel rather like a silly old fool, but… he wouldn't change it.

They chatted pleasantly awhile, each quietly getting on with their own task, until the comfortable peace was suddenly broken by the distant but distinct click of the front door opening. Molesley looked up, hastily clearing away his things.

"Ah, that'll be Mrs Crawley back…"

"Seems so… Good luck!"

She flashed him a warm smile, which he returned before smoothly dashing out. Like the perfect servant, he appeared in the hallway at precisely the perfect time to intercept the entrance of his superiors. Mrs Crawley had indeed returned, bearing in tow the Countess of Grantham. Without any indication of surprise or inconvenience, Molesley dipped his head in silent greeting and took their hats and coats.

"Hello, Molesley – thank you," Mrs Crawley greeted him brightly.

"Afternoon, ma'am. Can I get anything for you, and her Ladyship?"

"Some tea would be most welcome, thank you." She smiled warmly. "Is my son in? Or Lady Mary?"

It was the question Molesley had been expecting, and dreading. Luckily he'd spent his time in the kitchen running through possible answers, and swiftly recovered himself.

"They are – both occupied, ma'am, at the moment." It was not a lie; he was satisfied.

"I see, no matter then. Thank you, Molesley." It did not really occur to her to wonder what they might be occupied with.

"Of course, ma'am." He nodded and departed back to the kitchen as Isobel ushered Cora into the sitting room.

Quickly, efficiently, he prepared the tea tray as Mrs Bird produced some fine little cakes from the pantry. He took them up to the sitting room, balancing the tray on one hand with practised ease as he opened the door and slipped through, moving to the small side table to set out the tea.

"Thank you, Molesley," Lady Grantham purred in her smooth accent. "I see you haven't deserted us for the war effort!" All the talk of the village currently concerned who was, and who wasn't, heading to the front. Matthew had pondered over the issue; he did feel a strong sense of duty, but he also felt his duty to his new wife and the child they had recently discovered she was expecting, and so felt it wrong to leave. He'd said that he might, if it carried on; but for now, he found ways to do his service on the home front in what capacity he could.

"No, your Ladyship, not me," Molesley smiled nervously. "I don't think I'm cut out for a war, really, if you'll pardon me saying so."

"Well, I'm glad of it! We should hate to lose you here – we seem to have lost so many to it already, it's a comfort to keep some familiar faces."

"Hear hear," Mrs Crawley concurred. Molesley smiled.

In the comfortable silence that followed, as Molesley passed around the teacups, a soft sound gradually became apparent. It had probably been there since they had come in, but it was only once they had noticed that it seemed to become imperceptibly louder, and distinctly more difficult to ignore.

Isobel's smile dropped a fraction. Cora gripped her teacup a little tighter, wide blue eyes searching for Isobel's as if she would find some reassurance there that she was just imagining it - but she was not. They shared a look of resigned acknowledgement. Molesley stood to the side, wishing he could just vanish into the background.

From the room above was coming the unmistakable sound of a gentle, rhythmic creak through the floorboards. Over and over; sometimes a little faster, sometimes a little slower; unceasing. Cora's teacup rattled slightly in her saucer.

"I – I suppose the hospital is suffering from losing trained medical staff to the front?" Her voice trembled only a little; unnaturally loud in the quiet room as she did her best to talk over the sound.

"You'd be surprised!" Isobel replied, too quickly. Molesley began to feel a blush rising in his cheeks. He wondered if he should – no. It wouldn't do to say anything.

"Oh?"

Isobel flinched imperceptibly as the creaks were joined by another intermittent sound - low, muffled grunts of exertion.

"Yes! It seems as the war continues, capacity is being filled in the field hospitals and those who are fit enough are being sent back here, requiring tending to, and so it seems that many staff could be very usefully employed in the war effort here still!"

She knew she was talking too much and that her garbled sentence made little sense, but she was desperately trying to cover the muffled voices drifting down from the room above, for the sake of her own continued sanity. They could only make out the odd word; 'Matthew… … very impressive! …' and a soft laugh.

Molesley suddenly realised that both women were staring at him, with a sort of expectation in their eyes. As if he could explain it.

"My ladies?"

"Mr Molesley," Lady Grantham said quietly, raising an eyebrow. "When you had said that – that Mr Crawley and Lady Mary were occupied…. This was not quite what I believed was in mind."

"N-no, your Ladyship. I imagine not." He couldn't help it. He tried not to, tried to quell it, but his lips were twitching irrepressibly and he began to smile. The two ladies continued to stare at him, as if expecting some further elaboration, but it only made him smile more and, before he could stop himself, a small giggle had escaped.

"Molesley!" Mrs Crawley exclaimed, attempting a stern frown. "I fail to see what is possibly funny about the situation!"

Molesley was giggling unrestrainedly now. He opened his mouth to explain, but nothing else came out; how could he possibly explain? It was not like he could tell her what they were really occupied with!

"Well ma'am, it's just that, you see –" he eventually stammered out in gasps between his laughter.

Before he could get any further, a loud, grunted exclamation sounded, followed moments later by a raised, breathless cry of, "Matthew!" and the rhythmic creak abruptly ceased. Even Molesley was surprised by this but it only made the situation funnier. Now would be the perfect time to explain, but he could only clasp his hand over his mouth to try and restrain his laughter. His shoulders continued to shake as Mrs Crawley and Lady Grantham glared reproachfully at him. It was no laughing matter!

Luckily, Molesley was saved from his discomfort soon enough by Mr Crawley bursting into the room – fully clothed – clutching a handkerchief to his hand which was bleeding profusely. Lady Mary appeared behind him – also fully clothed – frowning in concern.

"Mother!" he exclaimed breathlessly. "Cousin Cora – I do apologise, I didn't realise you were – Molesley, I need some gauze rather urgently, could you fetch some?" His brows furrowed a little as he took in Molesley's red, grinning face and the raised eyebrows of the two women.

"Of course, Sir," Molesley dipped his head, still giggling quietly, and looked distinctly relieved to have been granted an excuse to leave. He hurried out and to the kitchen, finally allowing his giggle to turn into a full force laugh.

Later, once Mr Crawley and Lady Mary had managed to reassure Mrs Crawley and Lady Grantham that nothing untoward had been happening (he was really not sure how they had managed), Molesley sat laughing about it with Anna and Mrs Bird.

"So," Anna tried to get it clear, "Mr Crawley and Lady Mary were upstairs makin' Mrs Crawley's birthday present –"

"Yes."

"But Mrs Crawley and her Ladyship thought they were…"

"Yes!"

"My, oh, my," Mrs Bird chuckled.

A few days later, Molesley watched his master beam proudly as he uncovered Mrs Crawley's gift. It was a beautiful rocking chair, simple but elegant, with soft padded cushions tacked onto the seat.

"Oh, Matthew my dear, it's beautiful!" Isobel exclaimed. "I can't believe you have made it, when on earth did you manage it?"

Matthew's eyes slid to meet Mary's, and he smiled.

"We tried when you were out, mostly, Mother. I was surprised you didn't wonder why my old study door had been locked for weeks."

"Well, I just supposed you were busy clearing it still, to decorate, I did not think –"

"Evidently!" Matthew smiled. "Anyway, Mary helped, testing the rock of it as I adjusted it. It was all working rather splendidly 'til I tacked my thumb instead of the seat." He glanced ruefully down at his still bandaged thumb.

"Quite. Well, thank you both, it looks simply superb." She grinned elatedly at them both.

"You're very welcome," Mary breathed with a charming smile, feeling really quite proud of her assistance with the gift. "Do try it out! I can tell you that it's really very comfortable!"

"I think I shall."

Molesley watched with interest from the sidelines as Mrs Crawley tentatively lowered herself into the chair. She smiled – so far, so good. She pushed herself back, allowing the chair to rock forwards again – and it did so, with an unmistakable creak. Isobel's face paled as it all fell into place.

Molesley giggled.

**Fin**

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><p>AN: _Thanks for reading! I must apologise, I actually found it incredibly hard to actually imagine Molesley giggling publically so I am sorry if it felt forced at all! Feedback, of course, is always hugely appreciated. Thank you! :)_


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